


I'll be remembering you (Whatever else I do)

by Writing_Frenzy



Series: Bluenose, Golden Smile, Black Dreams, and Red Hunger [1]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: 1920s, Blood and Violence, Canon Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Death Rituals, Going to Hell, Hell, Period-Typical Racism, References to Depression, Rituals, Serial Killers, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:07:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22149910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writing_Frenzy/pseuds/Writing_Frenzy
Summary: You know that ice cold feeling in your soul, when your spirit shakes and your dreams are now nightmares?This is how that feeling came about.(Or, drabbles in how two broken souls make a whole, and are not the better for it.)
Series: Bluenose, Golden Smile, Black Dreams, and Red Hunger [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594288
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	I'll be remembering you (Whatever else I do)

**Author's Note:**

> :D I found a new fandom Muse~ (gets bricked) Make sure you mind the tags, because this is gonna be dark as heck.
> 
> And I have gotten the wonderful permission of @anic-mj on Tumblr to play around with her concept of 2p Alastor! Some things will be different, in both dress and manner, but their will be reasons for such!
> 
> It's just, Alastor is already an amazing character, so messing around with a character opposite of that? I got... ideas....  
> Title is taken from Midnight, the Stars and You by Al Bowlly (that Alastor has also sung, hence why I made a lyric from it the title.) Other songs that have inspired this are I will Sleep when I am Dead by Set it Off (Nightcore) and My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark (which is a really Alastor song)  
> (Btw, I had anic-mj as one inspiration, but I actually had one other inspiration for my blueberry slice; If anyone has ever read the online novel The Lazy King... you'll know~)

**_(First and Last)_ **

When Cass first takes a breath, it is with no thoughts in mind at all, just an all encompassing pain and agony flowing through them much like heavy blood and claws along the gravel.

The second, the third, and even fourth follow in much the same manner, if now accompanied by the taste iron on their tongue and hanging in the air. This is soon followed by a coughing fit, taking all those hard earned ( _desperate_ ) breaths from their lungs, spitting them out harsh and heavy with every exhale.

It takes many moments to finally think above the pain, the blood pulsing in their ears ( _and air_ ), and the sound of their rasping breath…

Things sadly don’t improve from there.

_‘I should be dead.’_ Cass thinks with regret, cloudy eyes starting to clear, if only just as they fully take in the… earthen room, they are in…

_‘Probably true.’_ is not an answer they expect back, but in the end, get.

This then opens a new can of worms, and one hell of a headache at that.

_(This is also marks the first, and last of the meeting between Casey ‘Cass’ Hart and Albert Murphy.)_

When they come too once more from being half-seas over, they no longer see that blurry room heavy with the taste of iron. All they see is darkness, nothing more, nothing less, besides only being able to see the hand in front of their face.

“Well, at least you don’t seem to be a Bluenose, darling.” is said to the side, Cass looking over with a frown at their… company.

What they see before them is a rather attractive man, with soft mahogany colored hair paired with rich brown eyes and delightfully olive tanned skin, a pair of cheaters resting smartly on their nose. The grin on their face, paired with the old timey look just complete the picture of them, showing them to be a real lounge lizard…

_‘How the fuck do I know what a lounge lizard is?’_ Cass thinks to themselves, frown growing even as the gentleman with them smiles all the wider, leaning on their wooden cane as they do. The dead youth goes over their thoughts once more, picking out other odd terms and such they just easily… understood. Like how they knew a Bluenose was a killjoy or cheaters meant glasses.

Or just how comfortable they were about blood now, when before it made them rather squeamish before... 

“...I’m being consumed, aren’t I?” Cass asked the man before them, who actually snorts at that.

“In a way yes; more a merger if anything.” The man says, smile still high up on his face, “It seems just as we are both gaining and losing from each other. Wonder how this will turn out.”

“... Oh, tell it to Sweeney, you know exactly what is happening, don’t you Albert?” the brunet scowls, arms crossed over their chest as they glare at the man before them. ~~_(wait, how did they know-_~~ )

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t; why should I say anything?” is the cheeky reply they get, narrowed blue eyes glaring hard at the reply.

Until suddenly, they are no longer narrowed in a glare, but crinkled by a rather large grin in return. ( _If a pair of hands on a cane grip tighter to the head, no one makes any mentions of it._ )

“I can either make things very annoying for you, or even extremely uncomfortable in the time we have together. I have many experiences after all, and they do say ‘misery shared is misery halved’.” is the rather pleasant reply Cass gives, one of their hands reaching up from their crossed position to rest their chin on.

On a hunch, a curse, and maybe even prayer, Cass thinks of one of their more… _hectic_ ‘work days’ and the harassment they faced from their _lovely_ 'co-workers'… and sends it right on over to the man before them.

Seeing how they shudder and grit their no longer smiling teeth together, Cass is sure they got their point across.

“Fine.” is more hissed then anything after a moment, Albert’s mouth not opening much, even as they in turn push something their way this time.

It’s.. not a kosher experience.

_(A ritual that needs a sacrifice, a cult with many willing, yet they take the only unwilling. He lived through it, but oh, now there's a curiosity, so strong, so vile by today’s standards even as lynchings are still strongly debated. So what if another man, white or coloured disappears around here, the swamps of Louisiana are still very much a danger to all._ ) 

Oh.. Oh god... 

( _Nope, not quite, it was something else that came from the ritual, some_ **_thing_ ** _that came to collect the blood of 11 innocent and 11 corrupted and decided they didn’t want to leave; Something that wished to perish it seems, bit by agonizing bit down his throat, and found it’s final rest in his stomach of all places. And yet… somehow, someway,_ **_he is still hungry_ **-)

With a gasp, Cass comes to, still surrounded by that darkness, with only a murderer for company in this eclipse of the mind, somehow still standing throughout all of that. Dazed blue eyes take in a hard red, the smile back in them as they seem to scream ‘I win’ all the while. And yet, all Cass can feel is heartbreak, the sick feeling in their throat pushing up at them even as they make their way to this bloody man, who blinks in surprise at the motion, backing away as they do in reflex.

It still doesn’t save them from the hug they end up experiencing.

“Wha-”

“You showed more than you realized;” Cass cuts in, taking in this broken smile of a man.

( _Remembers though his eyes how a mother, the skin the color of coffee and cream, with leaking red dressed all over her as she desperately pushes her boy through a small window. How no matter what, even screaming and crying, she refuses to give her child’s location away, not even to the zozzled Bimbo who claims he’s his father. She died that night, and just because of the color of her skin, is never given justice._ ) 

“I’m sorry for the lost of your mother that day... but congratulations on getting your revenge at least… I honestly can’t say I wouldn’t do it any differently.”

( _Takes in all the time he spent, lucky and unlucky in equal measure, learning how to use a gun and hunt, skinning and packaging his kills just right, so that when the day comes, it won’t come out wrong. How he learns of the occult, researching all those symbols and words he learned that day, just so he can make sure that in whatever **thing’s** name they took his mother in, he might at least make sure she was free of it_.)

“You’re a lot stronger than I am… I only ever needed to get revenge on one person.”

( _Remembers how, younger and more bitter after their mother went to the hospital for the last time, bruised and battered, yet just ‘fell down the stairs’ once more, how a young Casey took a deep breath, and in their father’s giggle water- booze, methodically poisoned it every day, with cherry pits and the neighbor's berries... Any evidence that could be taken of it usually shatter before the day is done… It only took a week to see results, with another grave put in the family lot._ ) 

For a good moment, all that happens is this quiet one-sided hug, an understanding passing through the two souls as it goes on, before a pair of longer, stronger arms wrap around Cass, completing the hug’s loop.

“Ah, innocent souls… Bushwa I say! Just lollygaggers who have nothing better to do then watch the world burn around them, as long as they are unaffected in their nice, cozy home from the fires. I hate them…” is choked out, Cass rubbing circles into the younger man’s back, paying no mind in how their shoulder gets wetter.

It is a bitter victory for the man today, killing all those involved with his mother’s fate, releasing their mother’s soul from the monster’s clutches… and breaking his own soul in the process, to a point memories of a previous incarnation flows through the cracks, having to use whatever it can to fix the hole formed around the now ever present hunger consuming him whole.

Cass allows the man his moment of peace, of this weakness to indulge in while he can, while he is still fully himself and not whatever they are to become in the future.

It is all they can do now, at least. 

* * *

In a quiet little ceiler in a simple out of the way house near the swamps, where the smell of blood is heavy in the air yet not a single drop to be found, a man with dark brown red hair starts to stir from the strange circle they find themselves in. A hand goes to rub at their face, a grimace fully at home on their mouth while their left blindly reaches for their cheaters.

It is when they are found do they take their hand from the face, dark blue eyes finally opening to see the world around them once more.

* * *

**_(A Routine Day)_ **

“-And that was the talented voice of Jane Green to grace our ears tonight; up next is a few words from our sponsors, and then we will get to the talks with the couple who have been making our ears ring with their wonderful words, Maryline and Eugene Roads.” is the cheerful, if soft voice that speaks into the mic, blue eyes closing once he sees his mic is no longer on air. A man with hair the color of mahogany sighs as it happens, even as his smile never leaves his face.

“Ah, for all the music our station plays, I don’t think anything could be sweeter than your dulcet tones; your voice is simply berries Alastor.” is exclaimed, making the young radio host blink over to his blond coworker, another cheerful fellow, an easy grin on his face even as he holds a glass of water. “You should be able to get a quick minute before you get on for the interview, so make sure you rest up while you can!”

“Thanks George, it helps.” ‘Alastor’ thanks with a smile, easily taking the water from the happy go lucky guy. After he takes a good drink, and with another sigh, the elder of the two gets up, his back cracking as he stretches, “I’m not as young as I used to be, so staying still is a bit of a chore.” 

“But as an old man, shouldn’t you be staying still?” is the cheeky reply said as they leave the recording room, only to bump into a scowling young man.

“Whoa, careful there James, almost knocked us over!”

“Ah, sorry about that fellows.” was grimaced by their ashen haired friend, the stress young man frowning now, even as he looks concerned.

“Why James, why are you ever so under dressed?” Alastor asks, smile tilting this way into worried as his eyes crinkled over it. “You know you’re never fully dressed without a smile!”

But when the man before him doesn’t even groan at the familiar phrase, if anything looks much more concerned, the smile fully straightens, blue eyes completely focused on the other.

“James?” George cuts in worried brown eyes taking in their coworker and his odd behavior.

“... You still the one doing that interview, Alastor?” is asked out of left field, making both men narrow their eyes at the question.

“...Yes, what does-”

“Please be careful… Mr. Roads has displayed behavior… most unsettling…” James says, not meeting his eyes for a moment, seeming to rest on the skin of Alastor’s hands, when an olive tanned hand can easily be seen.

If the thirty year old radio host had been wearing a smile still, it would have been undressed in a moment as the implication hit.

“Ah… Thanks for peaching me, I’ll keep that in mind… If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get a quick bite to eat before I’m needed on air again.” Alastor excuses himself, smile coming back up as if it never left, before making his way to the canteen.

( _All the while, a different hunger grows in his stomach, even as his mind is left a mess in disarray; he needs a few moments to himself_.)

* * *

**_(Deal Breaker)_ **

There is both Good and Bad news for the day. 

The Good News; besides a slight pause and sneer from Mr. Roads, the interview with the couple goes off without a hit, with only their sweet and deep voices to be heard, and no expressions seen except by the staff.

The Bad News; this is the only pleasant part of their interaction.

“Can’t believe a boy like you is working when the right sort are out on the streets; shame what the world is coming to.” Mr. Roads sneers, eyes hateful as they take in Alastor in all his professionalism, his wife quiet beside him, her eyes never leaving the floor. James has to hold George back at this, the fury on their face clear to see, mirrored easily in the hate on his fellow worker’s face.

Alastor merely smiles, like all is still berries and bee’s knees around him, “I have been blessed it seems with a winning voice and a kind boss. It’s all been tiger’s spots from here.” 

( _Despite his words, despite his ever relaxed smile, his hands start to bleed and his stomach roars to deafened ears. And if he so happens to pass a card over to the wife, a slight of hand trick hidden from her husband's eyes? Why, that is a deal between Alastor and her._ ) 

The next month, Alastor is back at the radio, smile still soft on his voice, even as his words ring with a rarely heard solemn quiet.

“In other news, I am very sorry to report to my dear listeners the death of one Eugene Roads; it seems, in a fit of insanity brought on by her husband’s abuse, Maryline Roads killed her husband with a knife 20 times. It is still unknown if this was done in cold blood or self defense, as the Madame was found brutalized as well. Just goes to show one can never judge a book by their cover or the smile on their face.”

~~(Especially by the smile on one’s face; he should know, as Albert Murphy always had a smile on his face, even when it came to killing. He merely gave the doll the power to fight back, just as she asked; he just never told her of the consequences that would follow.)~~

* * *

**_(Wondering Colors)_ **

Many things were different now, not just being Albert or even just Cass anymore, ( _He’s Alastor, a name sparked when thinking of radio and red and smiles_ ) but a mixture down the middle. With the radio playing a cool jazz to the side, and venison with vegetables roasting away in the oven, it gives the young radio host time to actually think about themselves, gasper lit and dangling from his hand. 

Cass _(_ _of blue and a bit of gilded gold_ ) had never been sure of who they were, their body a prison of confusion and their mind a desolate place, always seeking something to distract them from it all. Something to pressure out all their hate and dread for their life, trying to feel something else. ~~(Yet only adding more weight-)~~

( _Albert on the other hand, never had any cause or reason to question such things; he was who he was, and enjoyed being so, blood and smiles and all_.)

Albert _(_ _of blood and black revenge_ ) though had never really understood empathy; oh sure, he could feel emotions, but actually relating to other people, with all their problems, and woes, and dull lives? He really couldn’t have cared less. ~~(Despite how alone he seemed to feel, craving for any sort of attention at all-)~~

( _Cass though, oh with their desperate seeking for emotions, had a talent to be able to empathize with anyone and everything, most easily connecting to that of fiction then anything._ )

Both were very different beings, seemingly on either side of the spectrum as it were, but both these poor wretches had things in common. They both had an overwhelming curiosity that wished to be fed… and a need for something to distract them in the dulldom of their life. 

( _Entertainment and Distractions… what is the difference honestly, when one is just always hungry for something more?_ )

But if one were to ask if the man who they become liked this change? This being who has both gained and lost in this exchange of kintsugi with a pyrite soul to a cracked carnelian existence…

Alastor, ( _a mash of bluenose, black dreams, red desolate rage/hunger, and a golden smile to hide it all behind_ ) and as he prefers to go by, _(_ ~~_Albert no longer fits and Cass hasn’t ever been but dreams and despairs_ ~~) can’t say he enjoys his existence much to be perfectly honest, the smoke from from his addiction hiding his face from view. 

_Ring~_

Oh, tis time to eat.

* * *

_**(At The End, No One Wins)** _

He can hear the howls now, even closer than before.

( _Alastor had gotten careless._ )

Breaths taken at a rush with every inhale, branches along the moonlit path trying just as much to keep him down as his lungs. Lousinia’s wet, humid heat did not make breathing any easier, ever inhale heavy and yet never filling his thirst that just begged, along with his body, to rest.

But that was not something that could be afforded to him now.

( _In all his ways of kills and blood, he had forgotten something very important_.) 

With his speed flagging, even as his determination and willpower _(and adrenaline_ ) kept him going, Alastor put one foot in front of the other, teeth gritted as he did. He couldn’t see worth a damn at this point, his cheaters long gone and probably smashed, but he could still make larger objects out of blurred lines and feel his way around if needed.

( _Something, that in hindsight, should be obvious and practically common sense_.)

“Ha, come on out boy! My dogs are hungry and rather impatient!”

_Wooooooooooo~_

( _He had forgotten that he was not the only killer in the world._ )

Gritting his teeth, the pressure distracting him from the multiple cuts and bruises decorated under his body, from where his pursuer’s ‘friends’ had their fun with him before they set him loose, Alastor once more made into a run after taking in a much needed breath.

To the left, straight, run into the swamp, let the mud cover him, try and dilute his scent as much as possible, leave some of his blood high on a tree and go a completely opposite direction. It was with this game of hunter and prey that Alastor has lasted so long, using all his knowledge to get him by.

He refuses to let this bastard _win_.

( _He promises to someday make them_ **_pay_**.)

And in the end, his would be killer still loses the game.

But sadly, this doesn’t mean the radio host wins it either.

_(It is a family, a father and his sons, most adults or nearly there, that get a game none of them thought was actually playing, the youngest getting the win by inexperience, mistaking the long brown thing for a deer._ )

With a thundercrack and pain, Alastor Hart, beloved radio host and serial killer, breathes no more.

( _Something else does though, deep down in hell, which shakes to the foundations at the first_ **_ice cold breath_** _._ )

* * *

**_(Wicked at Work)_ **

If one bothered to actually look out from their pitiful petty existences in this hellish world, one could easily see that the political landscape of hell was one big sorry mess of corruption and power respectfully. Oh, sure, The King and Queen of Hell were to be obeyed no matter the cost, their rules sacred if nothing else in this god forsaken land.

_‘Nobles on the other hand,_ ’ Lucifer thought with a frown staring at the mountain of paperwork, ‘ _were a whole different game entirely._ ’ 

All of them natural born citizens of hell, Bloods Lines of his fallen brethren and **_other_** , but even they could find themselves bested by a mortal soul or two if not careful, especially if by an Overlord.

Taking in how another bundle of paperwork comes through, the esteemed King of Hell growls, taking out a special bottle from underneath his desk. 

“Oh, what is it this time, a turf war? Some mortal bite off more than they could chew and took a whole street down with them?” was said with some bite, even as he practically ripped the cork from his bottle to take a nice long gulp.

“Actually, seems a Noble is in quite the mess; it’s rather funny actually.” is the minion’s reply, getting a raised brow from their King.

“No kidding?”

“It seems a Mortal Overlord, by Rosaline, has Lord Drake by the balls as it were, and refuses to let go until she drains every last drop.”

“Huh… Put her on the Watch List, see how this turns out. I might need to have some of that mortal popcorn for the show.” Is the verdict he gives in the end, the thought of Drake being even more miserable then he is putting a grin right back on his face, even as he wonders on this Overlord and how she’ll make a name for herself. 

While some Overlords were Nobles, there were still a crafty few Mortal Overlords, like this Rosaline, to add their own spice to the game itself. But as it was, most politics between Nobles and Overlords didn’t cross much besides a scandal there and a scrimish here, as while Noble Bloods could become Overlords, Mortal Souls could not become Nobles, a few good reasons, but mostly boiling down to prejudice and impossible birth rate.

Corruption at its finest.

So, yes, there were common power imbalances and back hand dealing going all around Hell City, but if there was one thing, something else that demanded all the respect and fear that could at times equal that of their very Royal Family, it would be a certain group.

“... Hmmm, Demiurge is on the move again it seems; wonder what that greedy Despot is up too now?” Lucifer asks himself as he reads over the report, considering the Despot.

As in a Despots of Hell, Vices of Vice itself.

Beings who seemed to literally embody the very vices themselves, who even his lovely Lilith and he himself was in fact a part of, being Despot of Lust alongside the Despot of Pride. The power their group held was something many feared and awed about, Beings who could tear the Pentagram apart piece by piece and still put it back the way they wished later on.

( _What a mercy it was, none of them holding anywhere near the same desires any old demons did._ )

All of the known Despots had two things in common, for how different they all were; They all were greater beings that came outside of Hell.

Former Angels, Beings created and perfected by God… Things outside the very realms, mysterious and otherworldly, with insidious secrets surrounding them all the while... 

It sure did leave one heck of a resume.

Speaking of which.

“Ah, so my daughter needs yet another pair of bodyguards? This is truly getting old.” and with those words, Lucifer gets back to his paperwork, a growl once more working it’s way past his throat.

Until something screams across his senses, _icy cold_ and yet _burning_ with **despair** as his doors suddenly burst open, a minion covered in flakes of _snow_ gasping for breath as they do. 

Never any rest for the wicked as they say.

* * *

**_(The Fall of Melancholia_ ** _**)** _

It comes to hell all in a crash, with white noise and singing lakes going a static shattering and breaking, high sounds of _pew_ and lows of _bow_ , giving a haunting discord all around.

And then, there is _The Ice_. Large, arching spires, crescents sloped downward, disks shaped much like snowflakes, and even tubes forming from half broken down corpses for all to see, white, blue, black, and red fully taking over in this winter horrorland. 

Hell has frozen over.

It wouldn’t be so bad if the red and black dotted here and there wasn’t from decay _(shadows wandering_ ) and bloodshed. Not to mention the _radio_.

Broadcasted live and all over the pentagram’s realm, are screams, cries, begging, and wailing in _deep, dark_ **_despair_**. All of this follows simple questions in a soft, uncaringly cold tone.

“ _How are you feeling now?_ ” is said into the white noise, a crack and static utterance. _(cries rip through the air and throat)_

“ _Are you Afraid? Regretful? Despairing of your life?_ ” is asked in pops and glitches, almost unfeeling despite the care one usually asks such things with. _(Screams within dreams)_

“ _Sorry if you are_.” is stated with ice, shattering all around one and leaving them even colder than before. _(begging with misty shadows ripped from them, pact made in turn.)_

**_“I_ ** **_can’t seem to feel anything else._ ** _**”**_ is followed by the torturous sounds of hell, meshed with the tones of pain, with the mood of despair all around. **( P A I N )**

One could really say they were having a hell of a time, ice stabbing right through them, corpses frostbitten, with foggy, misty shadows seemingly multiplying as they go, completely willing to drag in any poor soul should they wonder too close. Already they have converge upon some poor sod, easily sucking out the marrow from his striped bones, satisfying crackles heard right after.

“Good to the last drop it seems.” A shadowy cloaked demon mutters, watching all the carnage happen below with interest, another shadowy being nodding right beside them.

“Quite the carnage honestly, and a masterful way of making deals really; our newest Despot seems to be quite the character.”

“Hmmhm. How long do you think till Luci ruins all the fun?”

“Hmmm, depends on his paperwork; could be a month, could be till the next extermination. The Fallen is ever unpredictable.”

“True… Oh, speak of the devil and he so appears.” both shadowy beings watch as the Ruler himself appears, looking out at his now frozen lands, a considering look held in those dark eyes. 

With a swish of his hand, he then proceeds to summon a chair along with a bag of popcorn that the mortals had recently invented appearing out of nowhere, while his minions set up a table, a steaming brew of some kind set down on it before him in a stylish espresso cup.

“Ha, well that answers the question; seems he’s going to enjoy the show as well.”

* * *

_**(Shades of Blue**_ )

He feels cold. Aching and bruisingly chilled, he feels it down to his very soul, sorrow seeming to replace his bones, with only despair stuck firmly in his mind.

And yet, the **_hunger_** only grows in his stomach. With it grumbling all the way through his body, until it reaches a steady roar throughout his entire being, refusing to let it be ignored.

And Alastor, oh, does he ever _feast_. 

Blue on dark blue eyes watch on, seemingly dazed, tears falling in a steady downpour down his pale blue cheeks, his golden smile gone, replaced by a bloody maw starving for more. He walks on ~~( _because what else can he do_ )~~, losing all sense of time, no idea if the path he walks is right or not, as despairs, regrets, fears, and nightmares, his own and not, fill his mind.

Hell truly is turning out to be quite the punishment it was meant to be. Time moves on, so ever slowly to his mind, but obviously passing judging by the Moon raise and the Sun's fall. Who knows how long he has been at this feast, ever so cold and seeking any warmth? The former radio host has no clue, or how long this will last. 

It is by chance, a simple glance, but in his wandering and wondering, he actually manages to catch a glimpse of himself.

He… paused for a minute at that, taking a good gander at just what he is, the metallic rubble a rather good mirror for him.

His eyes make him wonder just how he can still see, as while the light blue of his iris hasn’t changed, his pupils and the whites of his eyes are a slightly lighter version of a Prussian Blue, with a pair of chained cheaters, the glass in them much like ice surrounded by a darker midnight frame. The tiny black antlers, along with the dark blue with light blue frosted tips on actual deer ears, with even his slightly longer hair to match, got him a solid blink from his reflection.

“How peculiar…” was said with frosted breath, those strange eyes of his trailing down his new form as it were. It seems his clothing happens to follow his new blue theme, with a crisp white dress shirt with two dark blue lines crossing over his chest and peeking out between his new blue and dark blue pinstripe vest, with a plain blue bow tie to match.

It is overall… rather strange if the newly born demon thinks about it, how this transformation has come about.

( ** ~~ _He doesn’t think on the color of his skin, so pale like death._ ~~ **) 

Taking in another icy breath, Alastor lets the curiosity fill him, wondering on possibilities and theories for this change in form, if it is like that for everyone who comes to this Hell.

( ~~_Wonders if this will be distracting enough from his own woes._ ~~)

Well now, to find out if Hell has a Library.

**Author's Note:**

> :D hey ya'll, look at this fandom I found.  
> Alastor is very much an awesome character, and very fun to explore. When I found the 2P Version... To say I was intrigued was an understatement, I was fascinated by the possibilities and opposites I could work with.  
> And with me being SI OC trash, I of course had to make a twist to it. ~~while also giving me an excuse to occasionally slip on modern slang~~ Tee hee~   
> so thus, meet poor Casey Hart, Nonbinary Pal whose spirit, memories, and power was used to fix this current reincarnation of their soul, Albert Murphy. Fun Times~
> 
> So Yeah, there are some big differences between Anic's Blueberry and my Blueberry Slice. In ways, I have them play more opposite Alastor; for example, If you see Alastor without a smile, you gonna be gone. This is Vice Versa with my Blueberry Slice, you see him with a smile, you will be quickly wishing you didn't as the last thing you ever do. Same with how Alastor has Fire, I gave mine Ice to control. Alastor's shadows are solid, while My 2p version has misty, foggy shadows at his beck and call.
> 
> Anic's Blueberry is much more free with their emotion, have been said to be similar in power to Alastor, their shadows actually torment them, and is more like Alastor in style clothing, just in Blue.
> 
> (Me, I just love the thought of Alastor in glasses, so having him with his chained cheaters ~~(love term by the way, vote for 2020 to change back to this for glasses)~~
> 
> Not mention, but my Alastor also suffers from Insomnia and smokes like a chimney, and this will be a factor in this series. And, if you happened to miss it, he also suffers from depression and self-loathing, which is something he does share with Blueberry.
> 
> My biggest thank's to anic-mj for letting me play around with this character and concept!
> 
> Also, here 1920's slang defined:
> 
> Being Half-Seas Over = Wasted, Trashed  
> Bluenose = Killjoy (can also mean prude, but going with the Killjoy version here)  
> Cheaters = Glasses  
> lounge lizard = Attractive man  
> Zozzled = Drunken  
> Bimbo = Back then, this actually meant Macho Man  
> Giggle Water = Booze  
> Bushwa = Bullshit  
> Berries | Bee's Knees | Tiger's Spots = Great, Amazing  
> Peaching = Informing (this might just be a mob thing, but i like it)  
> Gasper = Cigarette  
> (If I missed any more, just ask and I will try to answer!)


End file.
